


No Better Love

by Meraad



Series: The Many Adventures of Aella and Thom [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Feelings, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:58:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: A tender moment between Thom and Aella, in the wake of him confessing all his sins.





	No Better Love

_Cause there's no better love_   
_That's laid beside me, there's no better love_   
_That justifies me, there's no better love_   
_So darling, darling, feel better love_

 

Eyes snapping open, it took Thom a handful of heartbeats to reconcile where he was. Had it just been a dream? The bed beneath him was soft, familiar. The quiet snores beside him, he recognized those as well. He turned his face to look at the woman beside him, her silvery white hair was hanging in her face and from her horns, lips parted and the absolute picture of beauty in his mind. She slept with abandon, with trust. _Trust in him_. That shook him to the very core. After everything, she still trusted him.

Never in all his life, had he imagined he would find someone who he could love, who would love him. Not the life for him. No wife. No children. After what had happened, after the atrocities he'd committed, he truly didn't believe he deserved it. Still didn't believe he deserved her. _Never would_. But Maker, he'd never stop trying.

Carefully, he rolled onto his side, the moonlight filtered in through the thin curtains, and he just looked at her. He could have lost her, lost everything. It was true that he'd joined the Inquisition because he believed in the cause, had been willing to sacrifice himself for it. But as time went on, it had been her. Aella. She was the one he believed in, the cause he'd give up his life for.

There was a long road ahead of them, for the Inquisition still, and between the two of them. The night before had been long. They had bathed together, her fingers massaging his scalp as she washed his hair, her breasts against his back, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders now and then. She had made him eat, fed him bites of cheese and crackers. Then, sitting in front of the fire he had told her everything. Every detail. He had wept and so had she.

And she had forgiven him.

All of it.

She had allowed him to wipe away her tears. To kiss her cheeks, her lips. Aella had wrapped her arms around him, held him, fingers digging into his back, face pressed into his throat. She had whispered, again and again, that she _loved_ him.

“Thom,” her voice was a sleepy rasp, her brow knitted as she cracked open one eye, she saw him laying there, staring at her, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “You're being creepy, stop it.”

“But you looked so peaceful,” he said, his hand sliding up to stroke along her jaw. “Especially with that bit of drool- ow!” he yelped when she tugged at a patch of chest hair. “Alright, maybe peaceful wasn't the word-” she tugged again and he caught her hand, rolled her onto her back, pinning her arms over her head. “My lady,” he said, voice grumbling.

She laughed quietly. “You aren't supposed to point out when the woman you love drools in her sleep.” Aella lifted her head, sunk her teeth into his lower lip.

Thom groaned, leaned down and claimed her mouth with his. She arched beneath him, breasts brushing against his chest, her bare legs tangling with his. “I do,” he murmured against her mouth and lifted his head to look at her, saw her brow furrow. “Love you, Aella, Maker's balls, I love you. I-” his chest felt tight and he thought his throat might be closing up.

She laced their fingers together, their hands sliding under the pillow beneath her head. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist. “I know,” she murmured. “I know you do, Thom.” Hearing her say his name, his real name, the name of a man he'd long dreamed dead, was a balm to his weary soul. To think that he'd nearly let her go. He'd save her any grief he could, would have gladly sacrificed himself for her happiness. That  _he_ was a source of her happiness did him in.

“I'm not one for pretty words, no good at flattery. But you're my heart, Aella.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Those are some pretty good words,” she told him, simple as they were, for her, they were perfect.


End file.
